For most of my life, the best thing I could do after a long day was sit down to a good book or tv show. Ideally, it would be science fiction— stories of worlds born from our own and yet far beyond, where some part of society, culture, history, or technology has been extrapolated in the imagination of the writer to predict where we might go. H. G. Wells, thinking about the consequences of social and economic inequality, gave us The Time Machine. Suzanne Collins, thinking about idolatrous materialism and sensationalized violence, gave us the Hunger Games. For those concerned about the government spying on us, with a deep fear of free thinking, we have George Orwell’s 1984, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, and Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. And then there’s climate change! How many space exploration movies are there where humanity is forced to leave the earth because we’ve exhausted the resources and poisoned the atmosphere, waters have risen, and over-crowding has left no room? It seems that in science fiction, authors implore us to pay attention to what’s happening in the world so that we avoid the outcomes they’re laying out for everyone to see. These writers are our modern-day Jeremiahs, and Isaiahs, and Amoses, telling us through historical analysis, street poetry, and guerrilla theatre that we are headed down a dangerous path. Should we continue, we could very well face exile from this world we know. These prophetic writers are the embodiment of the shofar, sending out calls through our imaginations to do t’shuvah and return to ways that we can live with each other and the world in peace.
Recently, I’ve been captivated by the television adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s novel, The Handmaid’s Tale. The story, written in the early 80s, is set in a near-future religious fundamentalist and patriarchal dictatorship called Gilead, built upon the ruins of the United States, which fell in turmoil as fertility rates dropped to an all-time low. In the story, many of the remaining fertile women are rounded up and passed around the military leadership’s families as forced surrogates, or handmaids, as they’re called in the Torah. The Handmaid’s Tale tells its story through the eyes of one such handmaid, called Offred, a name applied to her because she is of Fred, her current commander.
What I find most provocative and terrifying about this often difficult-to-watch story, is that many plot points to the story are not actually fanciful creations from Atwood’s imagination— they are all born from this world, from real historical events. In an interview about her speculative works, Atwood said,
I didn’t put in anything that we haven’t already done, [that] we’re not already doing, [that] we’re [not] seriously trying to do, coupled with trends that are already in progress… So all of those things are real, and therefore the amount of pure invention is close to nil.1
In fact, much of Atwood’s work is based on the role of women in Puritan New England and the Utopian narratives spread by some of the world’s most awful dictatorships, and some came from speculation on and analysis of how the United States’ democracy might be felled, with a dictatorship established in its stead.
As any television production will at times need to go beyond the book, it is particularly noteworthy that Atwood, in a New York Times interview, stated that the television show would be true to her book—the story would be kosher— as long as every plot point continues to have a firm basis in real events. As long as the story shows potential conclusions for what has happened or is actually happening in the world around us, the story remains true to her teaching, her vision, and her prophecy. And so, we see transpositions of Nazi experiments, North Korean and Saudi Arabian public executions, and extreme scenarios of what could take place here right in the US if attacks on religious and racial minorities, women’s rights, and free speech continue.
We need to be taking speculative fiction seriously.
In ten days we’ll read about Jonah, who will eventually warn the Assyrians that destruction will come if they do not change their ways (and spoiler alert: they do). We must listen and change, and not flee for boats to Tarshish because we hear difficult messages. These texts implore us to engage in self-reflection, personally and collectively. What are our destructive behaviors? What are we seeking to do that we believe is for the betterment of our own lives and for our nations, that could turn out well, but that could also could have disastrous consequences? Which are acceptable risks in the name of safety or progress, and which just aren’t worth it?
In a Midrash, Adam is cautioned by God, after being given dominion of the world and its inhabitants. God tells Adam, while showing him around Gan Eden, “See my works, how beautiful and praiseworthy they are. Everything I created, I created for you. Be careful not to spoil or destroy My world— for if you do, there will be nobody after you to repair it.”2 In other words, be careful with this world; you only get one.
Friends, the High Holy Days are upon us. The New Year is in, and we hear the clarion call of the Shofar, piercing through husks of our being down to our souls. Where are we now? What have we done with our precious time this past year? Have we lived only for the moment, concerned only for ourselves, or as part of a family, of a people, of humanity, of eternity? Have we been mindless or mindful? Have we been been consumers of Creation, or partners with it?
We have all had our good moments—of this I’m sure—doing what is right to help another. But as the liturgy will remind us on Yom Kippur, we have also all sinned. We all can and should be doing better. And there’s hope. Because in the High Holy Days, we have received the greatest of gifts— T’shuvah. Returning. To our ideal pure selves, and if we work hard enough, to Gan Eden— an idyllic, perfected world. And we can get there, because we human beings have been granted a tremendous power: the power to create with our vision, our dreams, and our words.
Think of magic for a moment. Harry Potter if you will. What are the most famous magic words? Abra Cadabra. Did you know that those words are Aramaic, and mean ‘I will create as I speak’? God speaks the world into being, and so do we. What we conceive of and say can very well become the next day’s reality.
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In Handmaid’s Tale, two seasons in, the world has not yet been saved. Gilead has not been overthrown, and justice has not yet won. But there is hope. We see glimpses of human spirit, of small acts of physical and emotional resistance from all corners of society. And as Imarisha observes in the introduction, “Once the imagination is unshackled, the liberation is limitless.”3 Once we can imagine hope in the darkest of hours, anything can happen.
Of course, there’s a Jewish paradigm for this. The rabbis teach of a Yerushalayim shel Ma’alah, and a Yerushalayim shel Ma’atah— a Jerusalem above, and a Jerusalem below. Jerusalem of below is Jerusalem as it has been over the past two millenia. In the rabbinic mindset, it is a ruin, a burnt memory, a reminder of what was destroyed because of senseless hatred. In our mindset, it may be a city rebuilt, and a symbol of hope, but it is far from perfect. It is the seat of power for a party claiming to represent the Jewish people filled with corruption and institutionalized prejudice against fellow Jews and human beings. But Jerusalem of above, this is the Jerusalem of our prayers— the Jerusalem that demonstrates perfection, a world redeemed, a place where we all live in peace and harmony with God. Lest we think that this is a paradigm that will come to us with the Messianic times, there are some ancient rabbis who made the case that perfection will only come when we unite that which is below with that which is above— when this world matches the one we want it to be. Near the end of Tractate Sanhedrin of the Talmud, we have page after page of rabbis arguing what it will take for redemption to come. Some argue that redemption comes when things reach an all time low—that only then will God intervene. Some argue that it will just happen when it happens. It’s according to God’s will and that’s that. And what I believe is what another rabbi, Rav, puts forth: the matter depends exclusively on our doing T’shuvah and Ma’asim Tovim— repentance and good deeds.4 God brings redemption when we set the stage and welcome God’s hand.
So let us speak hope, so that we make hope. Let us read the visions of the prophets, the demands of righteousness made over and over and over again throughout our Torah. Let us open our eyes to trials of those sitting near us, because each and every one of us is hurting. Let us open our eyes to the realities of this suffering world, of humanity in distress. And let us tell their stories, and find words of possibility and ideas of betterment, because when we imagine it, anything can happen.
It was not long ago that women could not vote. Even more recently, that women could not serve as rabbis. What about dreams of people of colour serving in congress, let alone serving in the most powerful political position in the world? What about marriage equality for the LGBTQ community? What about cell phones and internet and space travel, or more simply, low-cost electric lighting? Who would have dreamed that the Jewish people would return home to Jerusalem? Who would have dreamed that we Jews could be living in such safety in the Diaspora with almost total acceptance? Some did, when it was fiction. They dreamed, they prophesied, they wrote, and inspired.
That process must continue. We must continue. We are God’s prophets, God’s emissaries, and God’s light to the nations and each other. We human beings are blessed with minds that can foresee a world that has yet to exist. As we spend the next ten days in reflection on what we could improve upon, let us think big. Let us think outlandishly. And then, let us speak. Let us speak of an environment restored. Let us speak of every human being valued for who they are, with freedom to live in safety, in dignity, in liberty, and in happiness. Let us speak of a world where treating others with respect, as we would want to be treated, is practiced by all. Let us speak of a world where Arabs and Jews are at peace, where Jews and Jews are at peace, where America and the world, or even America and America are at peace. Where every person has food, shelter, clothing, health care, education, and employment, and the right to determine their own future. Where people support each other and feel an obligation, out of their own humanity, to look out for others. Where people of all colours, religions, gender identities, and beliefs, can live well with each other, respectfully. We may have a long way to go, but we can and must get there. Yerushayalim shel Ma’alah lies at the tips of our tongues, just waiting to be spoken into existence.
Theodor Herzl taught us, Im Tirtzu Ein Zo Agadah. If you can will it, it is no fiction. This year, let us all tell the stories that need to be told. Who knows what might happen.
L’shanah Tovah.
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1. Gruss, Susanne (2004). “People confuse interpersonal relations with legal structure,” An interview with Margaret Atwood,”. Gender Forum.
2. Midrash Rabbah, Ecclesiastes 7:13).
3. Octavia’s Brood: Science Fiction Stories from Social Justice Movements (Kindle Location 152). AK Press. Kindle Edition.
4. Sanhedrin 97b
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